


To Heal These Wounds

by Mottled_System



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Awkward Crush, Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, Bathing/Washing, Battle of Crait, Battle of Starkiller Base, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Cuddling & Snuggling, Death of Snoke, F/M, Force Choking (Star Wars), Force Sensitivity, Force-Sensitive Reader, Graphic Description, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren Redemption, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, Pining, Protective Kylo Ren, Stitches, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Surgery, The Force, Trauma, graphic depiction of surgery, so much blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25351153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottled_System/pseuds/Mottled_System
Summary: You're a new surgeon assigned to work on the Supremacy, and just as you arrive, there's a wave of injured soldiers after a battle and you're left burnt out and traumatized when a shortage of supplies leaves you operating on one Kylo Ren without anesthesia. Your work ethics, attentiveness, and care leads him to grow fond of you, though, and soon you're the only one he'll allow near him for medical attention- or emotional connection.
Relationships: Ben Solo & Reader, Ben Solo & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/You, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Leather and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me comments I am desperate for validation.

There’s just so much blood. On the floor, your hands, staining every towel- even the clean ones- and seemingly permanently wedged beneath your fingernails. You smell it so strongly you’re almost afraid to breathe- so strongly you can taste its metallic tones on your tongue. Your mind is in a frenzy trying to focus on every single thing you need to to operate on patient after patient, man after woman, trooper after trooper. It’s been like this for days now, nearly a week, as the battle rages on.

You had started in the field early, partially because of your far and beyond skill, and partially out of pure necessity. It was the absolute worst time to begin.

It could be worse, you remind yourself. You could have become a soldier rather than a surgeon. You could be in pain rather than in shock. But the thought didn’t seem to make sleeping- or focusing- any easier.

You hurry to the next most important bed- a recent one. The patient must be badly injured to make them such a high priority, or else a higher up in the system. As you look into the eyes of the Supreme Leader’s apprentice, you realize that he’s both.

You don’t have time to be shocked or terrified of the mythical man before you; you barely have time to take in the bewildered look in his dark eyes. You take scissors and slice open his shirt which is drenched in blood, revealing three large slashes- two are cauterized as if by a lightsaber, but one- the deepest- looks like it has been slashed open by a blade and stretches from his left hip to his right shoulder. He stares down at it silently. You begin to clean it with fast-moving, steady hands.

“I need general anaesthetic and more suture, stat,” you say to the medic who hurries up to you, clothing as stained as your own.

“We’re out of general anaesthetic,” she says. “We only have local.”

“He’s going to bleed out if we try to waste time-”

“Just do it,” Kylo Ren says, his voice hard and commanding, but you hear a faint crack in it. “I don’t need anaesthesia. Save it.”

“Sir-” you protest.

“Do it.”

You don’t have time to argue, just let the other medic continue to stop the bleeding as you hurriedly hook him up to an IV and grab the cautery pen.

“I thought you were going to stitch him up?” she asks breathlessly. She must be new, as well.

“I am,” you say. “But he’s losing blood too quickly. He’ll bleed out.”

“Right,” she says. She sounds scared, and you feel sorry for her.

Not as sorry as you do for Kylo, though. You make the mistake of glancing at his steely face as he stares at the device in your hand, then look back at the wound and locating the severed vein that’s causing so much blood loss. “Please, try not to move, or this is going to cause much more damage than it needs to. I- I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says through gritted teeth. You apply the pen and he hisses in sharply, his arms tensing up, but he keeps his abdomen surprisingly still. Once you’ve gotten the blood loss under control, you lean back to breathe out heavily.

“Okay. Get the local anaesth-”

“Save it,” Kylo says again. “You’re short. I’ll live.”

“But, sir-”

He scowls at you. “I can handle it. A lot of them can’t.”

You stare at his face, shocked, for a single moment before clearing your throat and looking back down. “A-alright. Get more suture thread, then.”

The terrified medic rushes off as you begin, poking the curved needle through the skin. He winces slightly but reacts much less violently, though his face still grows pained in the bright light of the medbay. You work quickly, trying to avoid looking at him, as you tug the needle all the way through one side and then through the other, knotting three times before the other medic returns and trims the suture down for you as you begin the next stitch. By the time you’re finished with all three wounds, his eyes are shut and his face is set in a permanent grimace.

It’s not the worst injury you’ve seen, nor is it close- but it’s the only time you’ve ever operated like that on a conscious person, and it haunts you so much more. Moreso, it moves you that he was willing to go through it without anaesthesia- a man you’ve heard rumored to be a monster doing something so selfless.

Hours later and the influx of new patients has finally ended, and the medbay fades into a much more manageable attending to stabilized patients. Many of the other surgeons have been released from their shifts, but you’ve been asked to stay and work a double, as many from the night shift were called in during the day and now have been released, leaving the medbay understaffed.

There is a brief and rare lapse in need, and being the one on shift longest, you’re one of the few permitted to take a break. You hurry to what is generally designated as a waiting room in what is generally meant to be a clinic, but all beds are full of seriously injured soldiers, sinking into a chair.

You begin to weep into the silent, open air before you realize how overwhelmed you are. You raise your sore hands to your face to wipe your tears and stifle the crude, animalistic weeps that escape your mouth so as to not bother the sleeping injured. Your body shakes as you weep, and though your entire person is clean and sterile now, you still somehow smell and feel and taste the blood from earlier in the day. You eventually stop crying and wipe your sore, reddened, swollen face dry and stare at the pale grey tile until a patient’s call light turns on in the hallway, then stand and compose yourself as you walk towards it.

To your surprise, it’s none other than Kylo Ren, laying there looking worn out and hollow. His pale chest is exposed, the skin around his stitches red and angry and raw. He smells like burnt flesh and blood. “I didn’t expect you to be on shift still,” he says softly.

“Double,” you say simply. “Understaffed.”

He nods solemnly before looking down. “I need to be released. I have things to attend to.”

“I really wouldn’t advise-” you begin, but his eyes flash up at you and you sigh in response. “I’ll be back in a moment.” You fetch the necessary supplies from a nearby cart and hurry back, wrapping his wounds with gauze and taping them down. “Please,” you say softly. “Return to be checked on often- at least twice a day. You’re at a very high risk of tearing these, especially if you insist on moving already.”

“I don’t have time for that,” he says dismissively. He isn’t taking this seriously.

You grit your teeth together. “Please. At least let us send someone to check on you a few times a day.”

He sits silently for a moment, watching you work with a thoughtful, tired frown. “You. Only you.”

You look up at his face for a long moment, surprised, before nodding. “Alright,” you breathe shakily before returning to your job. “Let me give you a portable IV.”

“No.”

You set your jaw in annoyance. “Fine. Let me give you something to drink- drink as much as you can, as often as you can. I’ll give you more whenever you run out.”

“Fine.”

Once you’ve finished and removed his IV, he stands and groans into the air, rolling his shoulders. You frown at him, worried, as he walks experimentally forward. You fish a case of the rehydrating drinks out of a nearby cart and return- when he goes to take them, though, you hold them close to you. “I can carry them for you,” you say breathlessly. “I’m still on break, anyway.”

He scowls at you for a long moment, mentally debating, before shrugging and walking forward. You follow him, relieved. “What’s the point of a break if you still attend to patients?”

“My job is to help people,” you say. “I’m not in the habit of making people wait for medical attention.”

“That’s admirable,” he says as you manage to match his strangely fast pace, walking beside him. He glances down at your legs, noticing your faint limp, and slows considerably. “You must be in a lot of pain.”

You laugh softly, dismissively. “Believe you me, I’m sure you all are in a lot more pain than I am.”

“Strangely, that fact alone doesn’t seem to keep you from lurching when you walk.”

You stare at his chest, still exposed save for the gauze and tape. “How did you do it?” Your voice is a frightened whisper, barely audible.

He looks ahead of you both once again. “I’m used to pain,” he says simply. “It doesn’t bother me much anymore.”

You’re both silent until you reach the mechanical doors that lead to his quarters, and you follow him in to put the case beside his bed as he undresses behind you, groaning occasionally. When he passes you to sit on his bed, he’s donned a pair of loose pajama bottoms, wearing nothing else. You hand him one of the opened bottles and he downs the entire thing.

“That tastes like shit,” he says.

“It’ll keep you alive.”

Kylo lowers himself onto the bed, his face twisting into a grimace. “Fuck,” he sighs as his head touches the pillow. “ _ Fuck _ .”

You stand and frown at him as he lay there in obvious pain, but after a moment, your pager goes off, indicating the end of your break. You sigh. “I have to go.”

He looks up at you for a moment, then looks down at your feet. When you turn to go, intending to instruct him once more to drink often, he grabs your wrist. “Stay.”

You look over your shoulder, stunned, before swallowing and nodding, turning back towards him. He releases you and you send a message to your supervisor telling him Commander Ren has demanded you stay with him for medical attention in his chambers.

“There’s more pajamas in the dresser,” he says softly. “Bathroom’s the next door over.”

You swallow and retrieve a change of clothing before scurrying to the bathroom to shower, then awkwardly return to his bedroom only to see him trying to strain his arm to grab another drink you hurry over and grab one, opening it for him and tipping it against his lips. He chugs the entirety of this one as well. “You’re a pain,” you whisper softly.

“Lay,” he says, patting the edge of the bed. Flushing, and with a sigh, you lay down. There’s just enough room to lay on your side, tucked up against him but not leaning into him. He breathes slowly and shallowly, his face a grimace.

His face is strangely handsome, you note, after several long moments of staring at him in the dim, hazy lighting. His skin is pale and dotted with birthmarks and freckles, and his brow is thick and dark. His nose is strong and hooked, his cheeks smooth and dimpled, his lips full and pout, jaw strong and defined. He has a mess of long, sweaty black hair. Your eyes travel over his neck and Adam's apple to his broad, expansive shoulders, one of which you gently lean your forehead onto. His skin is hot and soft, his arms thick and muscular, much like the expanse of torso that resides beneath his bandages. His chest heaves sporadically, his pain evident in the tender way he inhales and his jagged exhales. His stomach ends in a deep v that is most covered beneath his pajamas.

The room, but especially the bed, smells like leather and soap and a fire-burning stove, deep and sultry and masculine and hardy, and you’re grateful to smell absolutely anything but cold, tangy blood.

“Go to sleep,” he says quietly, as if you’re distracting him from doing the same.

“I have a hard time sleeping nowadays, you whisper. He looks over at you for a long moment before moving his arm around you with a wince. “You shouldn’t-”

“Shh,” he instructs, scooting you closer, and with a flush you move your face against his side, smelling that leathery musk even stronger now.

And then suddenly, as quickly as if he’d put a spell on you, you’re asleep.


	2. Vulnerable

You awake to the sound of a dull groan and your eyes shoot open to see Kylo Ren’s face set into a grimace as he drinks. How on earth he managed to get it with you lying on the edge of the bed, you know not, but you’re grateful he did. He’s rubbing your arm gently, just like he had been last night, and it takes everything in you not to curl into him and close your eyes again.

What a strange position you’ve found yourself in.

He looks over at you and studies your face with lively, intense eyes. All of his hollowness from the night before is gone, and he looks impossibly aloof to the pain he must be riddled with, to the damage and trauma his body is dealing with.

_ He was a Jedi _ , you remind yourself. They must have some mystical abilities, right? He runs a hand through your hair, which you notice has been let out of the braided bun it had been when you went to sleep at night. The thought of him gently undoing your hair while you slept made you shiver against him, in no small part aided by the shiver his touch elicits.

“Are you hungry?” You whisper against the warm skin your cheek is still flush against. You almost feel as if you’ve melted into one another.

“Yes,” he says.

You push to your feet and stretch with a yawn and he watches you for a moment, then you stand and shuffle into his kitchen to prepare him some breakfast. Much to your dismay, he shuffles after you and sits at the dining room table. “You really should try to move as little as possible,” you say gently. He only grunts in return, watching you.

“Stay for breakfast,” he says, and you look over in surprise before nodding. You suppose his strange requests shouldn’t feel so strange anymore, not after sharing a bed with him.

It’s a quiet meal and he watches you eat, making your shift and squirm and glance uncomfortably back at him occasionally. You have to urge him to eat as well, something he does little of. If you had not have joined him, he might not have eaten at all. “What’s the matter?”

He looks down at his food then with a hard scowl. “Hurts.”

You look at the long strip of gauze that trails from the side of his throat to his belly button, which must be disturbed with every movement of his mouth, his throat. A strong, sad sympathy floods you. “I’m sorry, Kylo. I can bring you pain medicine-”

“No,” Kylo says fiercely, taking another, larger bite. “I can manage.”

“A-”

“Eat.”

With a frustrated sigh, you return to your own meal.

When you’re done you clean the dishes and scurry back to the medbay to fetch supplies, returning to quickly change his bandages and ensure the sutures are still correctly in place, but he tires of the medical attention he seriously needs quickly and dismisses you the moment you’ll allow it. After one final reminder to keep drinking, you leave him to change into your uniform and return to your assignment.

It’s a long day full of pained soldiers, some of whom are a lot more kind than others. You’re exhausted by the day’s end, but grateful the battle is over and thus, the frenzy of surgery. You bring supplies back to Kylo’s chambers to find them empty, and sit ungraciously on his couch to wait, feeling a fool.

He returns eventually, wincing with each small movement, paying you a pained glance before hobbling into his bedroom. Worried, you follow him, medkit in hand. He goes to pull off his shirt and gasps loudly into the air.

“Please,” you plead desperately. “Let me.”

He looks over at you with a fierce expression, one that is clearly a denial. However, when he goes to yank his shirt off of himself, he groans again and wavers forward. You hurry forward and touch his shoulder.

“Please, Kylo. Please.”

He looks up at you again, his face a look of sore defeat, before ungraciously letting his arms drop to his sides. You carefully remove his shirt, guiding his arms as you go, careful to put as little strain on his injuries as possible. You gently begin to undo his pants when he scoffs and looks away. You look up at his bitter face.

“Is this alright?”

He shrugs, then nods, and you continue slowly, pulling his pants down to his ankles and crouching in front of him. Flushing slightly, you tug down his boxers and try to avoid looking at his groin, instead focusing on the nigh impossibly thick, muscular thighs in front of you covered with dark hair, his chiselled shins. He steps out of them and you toss them into his hamper before standing, giving him a gentle, pleading look. He scowls at you. “What?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“What?”

“I- I’d like to bathe you,” you breathe, and he scoffs again, shaking his head and looking down. “I know how demeaning that can feel, but I truly must insist. Please.”

He stares at you with dark eyes for a long moment, jaw working before all but snarling- “Fine.”

He leads you to the bathroom and you can’t help but look at his- well, his butt- as chiseled and muscular as the rest of him, just as alluring. Your face turns crimson and you try to compose yourself before he turns the water of the tub on. You take it from there, much to his anger and chagrin, making sure the water is a suitable temperature and the level doesn’t rise high enough to engulf his wounds. Then, you uncover the stitches and reluctantly climb into the tub alone, trying not to fret as his growls and grimaces at the movements, trying not to wince yourself at the horrible contortions of his injuries. He finally lays back, head relaxed, and you perch yourself on the side of his large tub, grabbing a sponge and letting the warm water trickle over his legs, his arms, dabbing the unmarred skin of his torso. The room is silent and with its swanky dark design, it feels dimmer than it is, and it’s an oddly intimate moment as you gently let him lay there. You’re careful to keep your eyes away from his manhood, sitting unobstructed from view a mere foot or two from your face. You consider that as you gently soak his hair and press the sponge against his beautiful, calm face.

You’re used to bathing people, to seeing naked men. You’re a trained medic, a surgeon, and you have intimate knowledge of every single part of the human body. Hell, more than a handful of naked soldiers had come onto you this very day as you’d sponge bathed them, including their genitals, but somehow- for some reason- this was so very different.

“Tell me if you’re ready for me to start, or if you’d rather lounge there for a while,” you say softly. With the hot, humid air tickling your skin, you can only imagine how lovely the bath must feel. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to one after you returned to your bunk, but that would entail cleaning the communal tub before and after- you never trust it to be clean- and you aren’t particularly in the mood for that.

He says nothing, just looks over at you for a long moment. Instead of looking away, you meet his eye silently- somehow, for the first time, you don’t feel quite so shaken as he oggles you, perhaps because for the first time, you don’t feel considerably more vulnerable. His gaze shifts slightly, brow twitching, and he stares at your mouth for a brief second. “Why do you care so much?”

“What do you mean?”

“About attending to me. Making sure I’m alright.”

“I’m a medic,” you say offhandedly, trailing the sponge over his arm. “I wouldn’t have gotten into this field if I didn’t care so strongly about people.”

He isn’t satisfied with your answer, and you know it’s an excuse- a true excuse, but still. You’re not really sure why you care so much about Kylo Ren in particular. He grabs your wrist as you go to press the sponge reverently against his cheek, his grip like a vice. His fierce eyes bore into you and you shrink back as much as you can.

“You are- intriguing to me,” you breathe gently. “Captivating.”

His nostrils flare as he studies your face for a long moment. Finally, he releases you and looks away, jaw working as he digested that. You smooth the sponge across his face tenderly. “Hurry up,” he instructs, and you pour shampoo into your hand, working it through his downy waves.

You work quickly, trying not to admire his Adonic body, trying not to memorize the look and size and feel of his, ahem, larger than average member. When you’ve finished, you stand and fetch him a towel and hear him snarl behind you as he carefully gets to his feet. You pat him dry and replace his bandages as he scowls at the wall again. “Thank you, Kylo,” you whisper. He grunts in response, walking towards his bedroom once more. You follow and open another bottle of the rehydrating drink, handing it to him as he sits nude on his bed. “I-” you begin, intending to bid him adieu, when he looks at you. His expression isn’t particularly foreboding or dark this time, but it still feels so striking, so intense.

“Stay,” he says after he’s finished chugging his beverage. You blink.

“A-alright,” you stutter, glancing at his naked body.

“Does it bother you?” he asks quickly. You shake your head, then move to the dresser to grab something for you to wear. When you start to head towards the bathroom, though, his voice stops you. “I think we’ve moved past the point of modesty, don’t you?” You look over at him and flush before setting the clothes on his dresser and standing there, immobile, for a long moment. His eyes soften and he seems to fold, much to your shock. “You can go, if it bothers you.”

You look at him again, seeing him anew. His eyes are tender, guarded, pained, and- lonely. He’s a wounded, caged wolf desperate for closeness and offended by the mere thought of it. You have somehow managed to let him begrudgingly allow you to help him heal his wounds. He feels vulnerable and weak, and the sometimes demeaning effects of medical care only make it worse.

You pull off your uniform, your underthings, and without bothering with the pajamas, you walk towards the bed, flushed. His eyes casually dance over your exposed body- quickly, so as to absorb it all before you disappear under the covers- his face relaxing once more. You curl into him again, just like the night before, only this time you hug your chest so as to not press your breasts against him. He wraps an arm around you again, and you lay there, half embarrassed and half content, feeling the intense heat of his broad body and inhaling that familiar, heady scent. Eventually, you drift into unconsciousness.

Everyday is largely the same for months after that. You attend to and feed him in the morning, leave him during the day, and return to him to feed and clean him and change his bandages once more, only to fall asleep curled into him. He grows ever less annoyed by your fretting and pleading, and you grow ever less exasperated him when he ignores your- very good and important- medical advice. He never touches you, never says anything strange to you, but he eyes you more and more as time goes on, his expressions growing hungrier and hungrier, and he seems to lose his temper more and more often, though never with you.

But, eventually, his stitches are removed, and eventually, his wounds are healed, and there is no longer any need for you to attend to him, and you’re caught up in your work, and there are many more battles and seemingly infinite more wounded soldiers, and your light night visits to Kylo Ren’s chambers eventually cease.

You never stop thinking about him, though, and you wonder if he thinks about you, too.


	3. Tumultuous Changes

You’re rushing through the hallway on your way to  _ finally _ finish yet another double when you see  _ him _ sitting beside a medical droid that’s attending to a relatively minor slash that stretches across from his forehead to his pectoral. You meet each other's gazes- his eyes are as intense as ever, flooding full of that strange, familiar expression he gets whenever he sees you. He inhales deeply, slowly, taking you in as if it’s a struggle. Without being invited, and without even considering it yourself, you sit in front of him.

“How are you?” You breathe, if only to hear his voice again.

He glances down at his wound. “Wonderful,” he mutters. “And yourself?”

You look over at the door to a room where a man can be heard wailing in pain, currently refusing any help from any of the medics, who has been at it all day. “Fantastic.”

He smirks a bit and studies you for a long moment. “You cut your hair.”

You touch it almost self-consciously. “Yes, I did.” You study his hair. “Unlike you.”

He shrugs nonchalantly and leans back, the droid nearly finished with its work. “I heard you were done with another double,” he says. “Or I’d have waited until you were free rather than let- this- attend to me.”

“I am done with another double,” you say. “But you can have them page me whenever. I don’t mind.”

He stares at you for a while, clearly sitting on that for a moment. “You work too much,” he decides.

“Maybe,” you say. “But there’s always more work to do.”

He smiles softly at you, his eyes boring into you as if he’s appraising your soul, and as if he is quite pleased with what he sees. The droid finishes its work and powers down then, and he stands, and so do you. He looks at you with a gleam of anticipation in his onyx eyes, jaw working as the ghost of his smile remains on his striking face. He twitches briefly, as if moving to- do something- but pauses and then relaxes. The gleam passes and his face grows guarded once more. “It was good to talk to you again,” he says in a surprisingly soft voice. You shiver at the sound.

“Yes,” you say softly. He takes a step forward and, despite fully knowing he was going to leave without further interaction, you lean against him in a hug, feeling your cheeks burn crimson. You hear him inhale sharply before gently wrapping an arm around you, stroking your back with his gloved hand. You hear people pass by in the hallway and your cheeks burn redder yet- this was entirely inappropriate- but you don’t let go, and neither does he. You bask in his warmth and that familiar masculine smell for several long moments before pulling back and staring at the ground as he walks away.

You don’t see him again for a long time. There’s been some sort of crash- you’re not sure, you were sleeping and awoke to sheer chaos- and everyone seems to be running around with their heads cut off. Most of your fellow medics hurry to the medbay but you rush the opposite way, seemingly pulled by an unknown force towards an unknown destination. You’re bewildered and almost terrified, feeling a rush of adrenaline and panic. Before long, you find yourself unexpectedly at the door leading into the Supreme Leader’s throne room, and without a second thought you entered the all-access emergency medical code, rushing forward just in time to see a woman standing above Kylo Ren’s body with his red lightsaber ignited. “No!” You scream and step forward. Bewildered, she looks at you, breathing heavily. “Don’t hurt him,” you gasp.

She stands frozen for a long moment before pointing the lightsaber at you and walking forward. You brace yourself, though you know you’d be useless in a fight, at least if your foe has one of those. She walks past you only to deactivate the lightsaber, toss it to you, and run off.

You run to the fallen Kylo and collapse beside him, feeling his pulse to find it beating normally, and sigh in relief. Bewildered, you look between the Supreme Leader and his presumed guards before stroking Kylo’s hair from his face. It’s only now that you start to wonder how and why you found him here, wonder what she would have done had you not arrived. Certainly she wouldn’t have hurt him? You were no real threat to her, no real reason to change her plans. You push it out of your mind- it’s irrelevant- and continue to stroke his face. Suddenly, the emergency alarms begin to blare, and you try to coax Kylo awake.

“Please,” you whisper to the air. “Please. You have to get up. We have to get off of this ship.”

A short while later, the door opens again and you spin to none other than General Hux- a man you’ve only seen a handful of times- walking in. He gawks at the bodies and you sit back to look at him. He stares at you as if waiting for an explanation.

“There was- a girl,” you say. “I don’t know what happened, but she left.”

Hux looks at Kylo Ren’s body for a moment and you swear you see him reach for a blaster before Kylo reared forward with a loud gasp. You turn to him and stare at him, and he stares back at you. “Where is she?”

“She left,” you say.

“What. Happened?” Hux demands.

“The girl murdered Snoke,” Kylo growls, though- somehow- you feel as if it’s a bluff. He clambers to his feet and you watch him stalk past the ginger man who watches him with a grim expression. “What happened?”

“She took Snoke’s escape craft.”

“We know where she’s going. Get all our forces down to that Resistance base- let’s finish this.” Kylo turns back around and stalks towards the door, lifting you easily to your feet by the elbow and pushing you onwards.

“Finish this?” Hux sounds angry, offended, proud. “Who do you think you’re talking to?  _ You presume _ to command  _ my _ army?” His voice grows ever higher and Kylo freezes, his grip tightening subconsciously on your arm. He turns, releasing you, and you turn to stare gingerly at the men. “Our Supreme Leader is dead! We have no ruler!”

An invisible shockwave rushes through the air and you jump only to see Hux begin to chortle on some invisible force. Kylo has an arm outstretched in front of him, clearly in control. “The Supreme Leader- is  _ dead _ ?”

“Long live the Supreme Leader,” Hux chokes out in an attempt to please Kylo. You stare in horror as Kylo prolongs the chokehold for a moment too long, and you grab his elbow. He looks over at you with wild eyes for a moment, unfamiliar eyes, before he lowers his arm, freeing Hux. Kylo composes himself before turning again and walking off, leading you with a hand on the small of your back. You hear Hux following behind.

It’s all a blur. You’re ushered into an escape pod and keep close to Kylo, too numb to feel much of anything as the adrenaline fades away to a grim feeling in your chest. Once you land on the strange planet that was your destination, Kylo hurries you towards a small medbay inside an AT-AT. “Stay here until I come to get you,” he instructs. You nod and sink onto the bed yourself, feeling overwhelmed.

It’s a long time before Kylo comes to get you, and you lay there half asleep, only half aware of his presence. You hear the faint sound of a leather glove and then feel a gentle hand on your cheek, stroking it softly. Tiredly, you lean into it, humming softly. Then, you feel him scoop you up into his arms- you open your mouth to protest, but suddenly, you’re asleep.


End file.
